Halfway to the Bottom
by Ch4ser
Summary: A take on the Shrieking Shack incident. Written before the release of book 5. Bit of humor, good deal of drama, and features an actually likeable Pettigrew. No ships.


**Halfway to the Bottom**  
Chapter One

Thousands of years ago, Hogwarts was made, and because of conflicts of interests, it was divided into four houses with four sets of ideals; this has been regarded as a bad idea since then, but little could be done to force a population out of a system it was so heavily ingrained in. House rivalries ensued for years on end, until Slytherin was marked with a stain of black and it became an unofficial house colour. Gryffindor, meanwhile enjoyed fame, fortune, lavish expense accounts, and the oversight of all professors to ever come walking. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were not nearly so conspicuous, and this can be attributed to the fact that these houses were established by women, while the other two were organized by men. However, this is not a dissertation on themes of modern sexism; it is a short story on the disadvantages of modern friendship.

- - -

Severus Snape found himself alone in the common room, hunched over a book. It wasn't so much that he found himself alone, as this would imply that he had never been alone before. Rather, it was just one bead on the string of his life, which matched every bead prior and would match every bead following: quiet, pale blue with a hint of melancholy grey swirl. Everybody else was most likely enjoying the lovely winter afternoon, pelting each other with snowballs and watching their grades plummet with lack of study. He had promised himself to earn high marks, and he was sticking to the promise.

His exclusion from the group wasn't wholly self-inflicted, however. As a first year, he was constantly teased by all the upper class members; it was tradition to give the first years false maps and frightful dreams of what detention meant in Hogwarts. Usually by second year, their attentions were refocused on the incoming class, and newer, more clever designs were drawn on how to wreak havoc on their lives. An exception, however, was made in Severus' case, and even now, in fifth year, other Slytherins enjoyed tormenting him.

However, even more than his fellow Slytherins, the group of people who tormented him the most was presently sitting on the other side of the Great Hall, laughing their little (very little) brains out: James Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, and Remus Lupin. Out of all of the students at Hogwarts, the four of them got the most enjoyment out of concocting new and innovative ways to inflict further suffering on his life. It was plain to see that Pettigrew and Lupin were merely along for the ride, and that Potter and Black were the real brains and brawn behind the deal. However, he held no sympathy or inherent forgiveness for them: guilt by inclusion was his philosophy. Across the hall at breakfast, he could feel their stares and hear the laughter.

This would not be a dull day, that was certain.

One lovely November morning, young Severus had his head bowed in a bowl of porridge, in his usual discreet manner. It was his daily challenge to avoid getting in trouble by some device of the Gryffindor Four. On a weekly basis, since second year, they had found one way or another to torment Severus. So much chaos and mischief surrounded him that teachers began to suspect that he was the one pulling the pranks himself; since he wouldn't tell who was doing it, figuring that nobody would punish the four Gryffindors and that his punishment might be made worse by blaming them, professors were left with no other option than to punish him in order to quell the need to dole out detention slips. Usually, any stunt pulled usually had him cleaning cauldrons or changing hay in the creature stalls. Luckily, despite his slew of detentions, Dumbledore had yet to call him into his office, for which he was grateful.

His present attention was focused on not being taunted by anybody, and even though he quite often failed, it at least gave him something to pass the time between classes (and occasionally within classes, as they were quite clever with timed charms). Those in his class (that is to say, the fifth-year Slytherins) didn't really do much to torment Severus. They opted to leave him alone and focus on more important things, like the OWLs and Quidditch. Of course, they also thought that watching lichen grow was more scintillating; to each his own, as the saying goes.

He could distinctly hear subdued laughter and tense speech at the other side of the hall, and without looking up he knew the four pairs of eyes focused on him, and all eight eyes were plotting in some capacity. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he made sure his wand was readily at his side and easily accessible. Turns out it would be an interesting morning after all.

Taking a break in his slow, deliberate (and mainly forced) consumption of porridge, Severus went over in his mind the last few pranks they had pulled. There were the timed Filibuster fireworks that had gone off in Transfiguration the other day; that rather nasty charm that had made everything taste like tapioca pudding, giving the lamb they had the other night a very interesting taste for the texture; and how could he forget the lovely potion poured into his shampoo that had made his hair turn bright pink without his realizing it? Perhaps they had slipped something into his porridge this time. It was worth a look, anyway, and where else did he have to go? He began digging through the mush with his spoon, searching for something that was either living or highly explosive.

Suddenly, a bright blue speck zipped out of his bowl, somehow surviving its stay at the bottom, and stung him smack on the nose. The sting itself wasn't too bad. A small bump would develop on his nose and with a bit of ointment it would leave in two, three days tops. However, he suddenly found himself mostly unable to get to the Hospital Wing for a bit of salve, as his feet were no longer touching the ground.

"Billywig," he muttered. "Of course. Why not?"

He would have continued his personal tirade, but he cut off his own speech with a loud yelp when a teacher snagged him about the collar and began guiding his floating form down the aisles, past the rows of gawking (and laughing) students. He would have felt completely and utterly mortified, but somehow it didn't matter to him. 'Day five thousand seven hundred sixty eight in the series of' for him.

Finally, he was outside of the hall and receiving a dark glare from one of his professors. She leveled her gaze with his, hanging onto his shoulders firmly to make sure he didn't float away. Severus grinned sardonically at her.

"So, will it be after school or in the evening?"

"At night, actually."

He smiled, somewhat bemused. "Oh, really? A change. How invigorating."

"This is no time to get smart with me," the professor replied, narrowing her eyes. The others had cleared the room, letting Professor Nesbit handle the situation.

"I wasn't aware I was going over your head." Severus was nearly ready to smack himself on the forehead for having said that. '_Insult the teacher who is about to punish you. Brilliant move, Severus. Perhaps you'd like to punch a hippogriff later today?_'

She smiled down at him, a noticeable gleam of malevolence in her grin. He knew this could not bode well. "I'm sure Mr. Filch will have something for you to do tonight."

He cringed inwardly. It felt demeaning somehow that a squib he could hex six ways to Sunday still held power over him. "Where should I go?"

Be here, at eleven at night. The moon is full tonight, so you should see fairly well."

"Thank you for your incessant care and consideration."

"Part of my job, I assure you."

He continued, throwing caution to the wind. "I must also extend my gratitude that you listened to my side of the story and made a fair and unbiased opinion on the situation at hand." After all, what was one more detention?

"Meaning?" Nesbit queried, raising an eyebrow in Severus' direction.

"It wasn't my fault."

"Whose was it then?"

Severus remained silent, bowing his head. He, of course, had nothing to gain by saving their hides, but he refused to be a squealer. Besides, it wasn't as if his life was at stake.

"I see," Nesbit replied. "Eleven o'clock, sharp. Don't be late."

Grumbling softly, he returned to his seat, still feeling hungry. However, his place was empty, and there was no time to get another bowl. Class was about to start and while two detentions before nine am would be a new record, it was a record he did not wish to set. Instead, he broke into a near run to potions, his one joy in life at the moment. Besides, that, Professor Cadmus was quite attractive, and if he couldn't focus on making a potion, he could focus on her lectures.

Sitting over his cauldron, Severus focused on cutting his ginger root into perfect tetrahedrons; they had to be perfect in order for the potion to be at full potency, and he did not want to disappoint Cadmus on his potion. He wanted it to be perfectly potent and hot and...

Things took a turn for the worse at that point, and he finally managed to recollect himself a few minutes later. His reverie was broken by the sound of uproarious laughter behind him and slightly to the left. It didn't take him very long to pinpoint the voices among the mirth, as they were far too familiar for his comfort. They were part of the reason he disliked being a Slytherin and subject to house contempt, the Fantastic Four of Gryffindor.

He threw a suspicious glance their way, just to be sure that they weren't laughing for some hex that had been flung at his back. Apparently not; they were wrapped up in themselves and acting ludicrously self-important, as did most Gryffindors. Severus huffed angrily, accidentally drawing Lupin's attention away from the group. Lupin appeared to flash him a sympathetic smile, but it was promptly rejected with an icy glare from his side. He would not endure pity, especially a Gryffindor git. Especially if that Gryffindor git was one of the blessed four.

Severus said very little that day, instead opting to keep his head down and focus on not earning himself another detention that day. It appeared as if the others were in accordance with this frame of mind, and ignored him for the rest of the day.

But one person didn't ignore him.

"Do you ever worry about Snape?"

The evening was drawing to a close, and Remus was spending the few final hours before moonrise with his friends in their bedroom. It was just the four of them sitting on two beds, talking, when Remus posed a rather odd and abrupt question. He was met with silence, so he iterated himself, slightly irritated.

"Do you ever worry about Snape?"

"Sure," Sirius replied lightly. "I worry about him throwing poison in my drink, I worry about him snapping and taking down half of the student body, I worry about him stepping out in pink robes one day to match the hair we gave him." He nodded resolutely. "I worry about him quite often."

Remus glared at Sirius, and at James and Peter for going along with the joke and laughing. "That's not what I meant. I mean, we pick on him a lot. It may come back to haunt us."

"Frankly," James replied, "it's Snape's business if he wants to be disliked."

"I agree," chirped Peter.

Remus shot him a look. "You would."

"Come on." Sirius threw an arm around his friend and tried to pull him a bit closer. Remus tensed up and refused any show of affection. "Don't get your knickers in a twist about Snape."

"I'll have you know that Snape has absolutely no effect on my knickers whatsoever."

"Oh?" Sirius prodded, a smile playing in his voice. "And what does he have an effect on?"

"Nothing except my sympathy complex. I mean, so what if he's quiet? Why should we give him so much Hades? He's not even in our house."

"All the more reason."

"You're being unreasonable."

"When it comes to Snape, there's nothing but unreasonable."

"I don't see your reasoning behind that."

Peter began rubbing his temples. "You two are giving me a headache."

"And with good reason," Sirius said, grinning.

"Stop that!"

"Look," James said, trying to intervene and quell the situation some. "Perhaps we do pick on Snape too much. Perhaps that thing with the billywig today at breakfast was a little much. But come on, Remus, it's not as though he doesn't bring it on himself."

Remus halted his thoughts abruptly before he spoke. In a very controlled tone, he asked, "How so?"

"Well, for one, he's a Slytherin. Secondly, he's just plain odd."

"Again I ask, how so?" He looked them all squarely in the eye. "People would call me just plain odd too. What makes him strange?"

Peter answered for James. "He's got this sort of look in his eyes, like he's going to lunge at your throat at any minute, and that he would if he didn't find it cliché."

"And," interrupted Sirius, "he's always working on potions. If you ask me, he's just trying to figure a way to poison the headmaster."

"I doubt that," Remus muttered.

"He's just strange," Sirius continued. "Why else would we bother with him? I mean, he's not really worth much else, the slimy git; he's not even human."

Peter and James saw how subtly Remus bristled at this comment; Remus, however, maintained perfect composure and didn't say a word. He knew all too well how Sirius would stick his foot in his mouth, only to turn around and do it again in his apology. They all accepted it and learned to live with it, Remus having to do so more than the other two. A brief, uncomfortable silence fell over the room before Remus got up.

"I should go now. The sun is setting and Pomfrey will be expecting me." Silently, he got up and strode out of the room, in a very controlled, Remus-like manner. It always seemed more difficult for him to be like that when the moon was on the rise.

Once the bedroom door clicked shut behind Remus, James reached out and firmly slapped Sirius upside the head.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"For being a flaming git."

"Ooh, flaming?" Sirius asked in astonishment. "I'm impressed. I must have moved up in ranking overnight without realizing it."

"Stop being an idiot, Sirius," Peter said.

"I don't know what I did."

Peter and James gave each other a wilting look, shaking their heads in dismay. "You probably never will, Sirius," James said sadly. "You probably never will."

"Listen," Peter interrupted, "Remus will be expecting us. We've got to start moving now." He peeked out the window. "The sun is already down and moonrise is in about an hour or so."

"He's right. Let's go."

They quickly fell into the same system used every month to leave the castle unnoticed. Peter would quietly slip into his rat form and hide inside James' pocket, and the three of them would go down and wait by the tree, under the Invisibility Cloak that James' parents didn't know he had, until Pomfrey led Remus into the safe house. The three of them usually waited until they knew Remus was fully transformed; he had asked them to stay behind and never watch him transform. For his stake, they obliged.

They set Peter onto the ground and he quickly shot up to the tree, pressing the knot that would freeze the dangerous limbs and let the three of them slip through to see Remus. As they were going in, Sirius thought he spotted something across the lawn.

"Hey. Isn't that Snape?"

Severus strolled across the lawn, mud clinging to his shoes and making his walk extremely difficult. The year had been particularly cold and wet, and there had been a fairly heavy downpour the day before. It was a frigid night, and Filch was leading him down the field; in the distance, Severus could see Hagrid, another token member of the Hogwarts faculty in his eyes. Hagrid's gaze was trained on the forest. Walking up to him, he could feel the air somewhat tense.

Filch cleared his throat with a sloppy cough. "So, Albus say you needed his help?"

Hagrid nodded. "Thank ya'. I can take 'im from 'ere."

"Suit yourself," he replied gruffly. "I'll be back to collect him in three hours." Quietly, he turned and shuffled away.

Severus studied Hagrid a moment, who was still looking into the forest. "So, whose dung am I cleaning up?"

Hagrid turned and looked at him coolly. "It's sommat more dangerous than dung."

"Danger is my middle name," he replied flatly.

"I thought it was Lindsay."

"Let's not discuss that, if you don't mind."

Hagrid shrugged, returning his gaze to the forest. "Well, there's an animal loose out there, an' I believe it's been hurt sommat awful."

As if to support what Hagrid was saying, a long, winding howl rose from the woods, calling all the hairs on the back of Severus' neck to attention.

"It's yer job to find it and hopefully bring it back."

"Doesn't this border on child brutality?"

"Jus' go find it."

"And if I can't?" Severus challenged coldly.

"Do yer best."

He sighed. "Fine." Clutching his wand firmly in his hand, Severus started off into the woods. Right at the edge of the forest, he paused briefly, shouting back to Hagrid, "But if I die, I'll make sure someone gets an official reprimand for this."

"Jus' go," Hagrid shouted. "I'll be in the woods too. Send up sparks if ya' need anything."

Drawing his robe more tightly around himself, Severus braved the woods, the high, bright moon making things startlingly clear. Of course, he could have hoped for better: perhaps daylight, with a roaring fire, and a good cup of Earl Gray, sweet, but not too sweet. That and his tattered old copy of _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead_ and he could be quite satisfied with life. Being stuck outside, in the dark, frigid night, with his breath fogging up his view was not his picture of an ideal night.

Far off in the distance, another howl clawed its way towards the moon, causing Severus to shiver once more.

Deep in the forest, Prongs was staring at Moony sternly. He knew they had to somehow lead him away from the incoming people. Of all nights, didn't Dumbledore realize that a full moon was not the night to send punished students gallivanting about the Forbidden Forest? Wasn't it forbidden for a reason? He snorted, nudging Padfoot in a direction away from the people, trying to get him to help motivate Moony.

Wormtail, from his perch atop Prongs' head, could see the animosity within Padfoot's eyes quite clearly. Obviously, his curious instincts were getting the better of his minute sense of logic, and he wished to go find out who was going into their territory rather than lead Moony to safety. Prongs, thankfully, wouldn't relent, and finally got the three of them moving away from danger.

Moony, however, was feeling frustrated. Deep within, he too was curious to find out who was there, but for an entirely different reason, and his friends could see the blood lust in his eyes, which was exactly why Prongs was so intent on leading them as far away as possible. He and Wormtail had to quite often trade being the mediator of the group, and as a rat, Wormtail was rather ineffectual at this point. Thankfully, Prongs managed to get the four of them moving clear of trouble.

However, not much deeper in the woods, trouble lay, quietly brewing.

Stepping quietly, Prongs looked around, making good and certain that they were still close enough to the Shrieking Shack to make it home by morning, but far enough that Moony wouldn't be in trouble. Padfoot, meanwhile, was sniffing around, trying to find something to grab his attention. That was when he smelled it.

Blood.

Moony, too, had sensed it, and was now poised and ready to strike at whatever he could claim. Bare moments later, Prongs and Wormtail knew what Moony and Padfoot knew, and felt their respective stomachs grow cold. Moony was strong, and could resist the wolf for awhile, and up until now he had never been challenged beyond his capacity. Of course, up until now, he had never smelled blood.

The scent was metallic, and yet sweet as caramel or honey. Within seconds, he knew where the blood had come from and where the animal was going. Ignoring his friends, he shot in the direction of the wounded animal, hoping to find something remaining for himself. The woods streaked past him, and twigs and leaves blurred into a thin net that failed in catching him. Thudding paws and hooves thundered behind them, but he ignored them, his attentions focused on his potential prize. The scent was growing stronger by each leap, until finally, he burst into a glade, and the scent was overwhelming his heightened senses; but another scent was laced thickly amongst the first: the scent of a wolf pack.

A very hungry wolf pack.

Who had their eyes trained on Moony.

Padfoot and Prongs skidded to a stop behind him, all staring at the pack, which was now beginning to slowly close in on them. Wormtail squeaked, burying his face into Prongs. The three of them threw quick glances at each other and knew what to do. Prongs, most certainly unable to fight, would try to give a chase and lure some of them away. Padfoot and Moony would have to deal with the rest, or run as they saw fit.

They reached this conclusion in a matter of seconds, and the three of them began running, Prongs one way and Moony and Padfoot the other. Moony could hear the volume of footfalls thinning behind him, and he could sense that about half the pack was following Prongs. That left himself and Padfoot against five wolves. They most certainly would have to keep running.

However, as they were running, a certain scent began to grow stronger in the air. It was light, of some common soap, Earl Grey, and a hint of Hemlock. Sometimes it was stronger and sometimes it was weaker, but whatever it was, it was steadily growing closer, and not being very subtle about its presence.

"What-?"

Padfoot and Moony burst through some brambles, only to have to force themselves to stop short: Snape was standing right in front of them, looking terrified, and rightly so. To his credit, it was mere seconds before he had his wand ready to hex, but within these few moments, he was suddenly surrounded by wolves.

Moony glared at Padfoot; they both knew Snape was no match here, even armed. The three of them would have to fight against the remainder of the pack and hope for the best. They turned their back on Snape and stared at the wolves, teeth barred and growling viciously. In turn, the wolves growled back, their scraggly fur revealing a constant lack of a good meal. Their eyes gleamed hungrily, and froth dripped from their mouths.

One wolf gave up the staring game and took a running leap straight for Snape. He stuck his wand out, but before the cures could fly from his mouth, Moony leapt at the wolf and checked it harshly, teeth going straight for the jugular. The two of them were suddenly locked in a mortal combat, a frenzy of fur and teeth, claws and growls. The remaining four wolves closed their circle in tighter.

Padfoot pulled closer to Snape, glaring as coldly as he could at the wolves. Even though protecting Snape was the last thing he had wanted to do that night, he found himself with no other option. One of the wolves was trying to stare him down and make him break his gaze; he refused to and continued staring back at it, ready to strike in a moment.

"Stupefy!"

He heard a soft thud in the wet dirt behind him. Padfoot turned quickly to see that Snape had stupefied a wolf that was about to attack them. He looked up at the boy oddly.

Snape stared back, obviously feeling some of the tension between them, although uncertain as to why. "Look, fight now, figure things out later."

In perfect agreement, they turned their attention on the three remaining. One was hanging in the back, seemingly a bit older than the rest of the pack. This bode well for them, Padfoot realized. Take care of these two, and the third will be easier to pick off. The predators circled their prey momentarily, assessing the situation as well.

A sudden silence fell over the forest. Stomach clenched, Padfoot looked over to Moony. The werewolf was slowly standing up, clearly hurt but still alive. The wolf he was fighting lay limp on the ground; whether it was unconscious or dead, Padfoot could not tell, but it was out of their way. Moony limped up to them, significantly weaker than before, and seemed about ready to fall over. It had been a brutal fight indeed.

Slowly, the forest began to fill with a soft rustling. Padfoot appeared confused, but Moony knew what was happening: the other wolves had given up on Prongs and had come to where they could smell blood. Where there were three, there were now seven wolves, all poised and ready to earn a meal.

The three of them pulled tightly together, Padfoot and Moony searching for a break in the ring forming around them. Where the weakest wolf stood was probably their best chance, but unfortunately, Moony could tell that right beside that wolf stood the alpha male of the pack, who was presently sniffing the body of his fallen comrade. Shooting a dark look at Moony, it was quickly realized that the body of the wolf who lay there was meant to be the heir to the pack.

They were in trouble. The pack was out for blood: Moony's blood.

Two wolves simultaneously dove for Moony, ready to kill. Moony and Padfoot leapt up and knocked them back, both suddenly engulfed into fights. Another wolf joined the assault on Moony, but Padfoot wouldn't have it. Through sheer luck and the confusion of flying fur and growls, he lured away one of the wolves until two were fighting him and Moony was left to tackle one.

It appeared as though Severus had suddenly regained his wits; it was understandable that he had lost them in the fray, and he thankfully picked a most opportune time to find them. He pointed his wand at one of the wolves and hexed it, knocking it unconscious with the utterance of a word. The wolf fell limp an the alpha male found a new scapegoat. Severus threw a curse at the wolf, but he dodged it narrowly, leaping straight for Severus.

Spotting this, Padfoot, broke himself away from the other two wolves he was fighting and leapt onto the alpha male's back, sinking his teeth firmly into the back of his neck. With nothing to do now, the two freed wolves ganged up on Moony, while the final two wolves sniffed their fallen comrade, not quite certain what to make of the situation.

Moony felt his energy flagging, and he knew he couldn't continue fighting for much longer. Instead, he broke away, luring them from Snape and Padfoot. Luckily, the three wolves followed in a not-so-easy lope, as Moony struggled with his run. The other two joined the chase, the ill one falling behind the injured.

Severus held his wand out, wishing to hex the wolf off of this strange dog he saw fighting before him, but he didn't want to, for fear of hurting that black dog. Instead, he watched in horror as the rest of the pack fled after the larger, shaggy brown dog, leaving the final wolf behind. He realized that these dogs helping him were extremely clever; he only hoped they were extremely strong.

Snarls, growls, and yips were all that could be deciphered from an otherwise chaotic ball of fur. Bites were thrown left and right, and occasionally one of the fighters would stumble. Leaves and dirt sprayed up in the night, an Severus found himself hard-pressed for room, his wand still trained on the fighting beasts.

Suddenly, there was a break in the fight. A long, painful, quiet howl came from the smaller black dog, and it fell limp into the dirt: the wolf had won. He now fixed his gaze on Severus, who still had a shaking wand hand pointed at the wolf.

"_Impedimenta!_"

The wolf fell into the snow, and Severus fell beside the dog, taking it up into his arms. The animal was still breathing, and quite strongly; whatever had caused him to black out obviously wasn't going to leave any permanent damage. He ran a gentle hand over the dog's jet black fur, fingering the fine hairs of the animal who had just saved his life.

With a gentle whimper, Padfoot slowly began to regain consciousness. Snape came slowly in and out of focus, causing the dog to close his eyes and whine once more. Moreover than the pain, he realized that there was no way out of this situation: Pomfrey would discover this for certain. Moony's wounds could be passed off as self-inflicted, but this was quite obvious. He lay his head down once more with a tired sigh.

Snape put his hand on the dog's head. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly. "I don't know how, but I know you can understand me, so please trust me. I'm going to take care of your wounds."

Padfoot perked at this, only very slightly. He couldn't see what Snape was doing, but he could hear him muttering softly and could feel the wand pressing gently against his wounds, slowly healing them up. Broken bones mended, causing him to wince slightly; but overall, he began feeling better, the pain ebbing away in the night. He didn't know how long the process went for. The moon had nearly set by the time he was steady enough to walk again, and he could sense how tired Snape was.

Severus, stumbling through his drowsiness, helped the dog up and patted it on the head. "Now, you return home to your master. I certainly hope he treats you well. You're a very noble dog." He stood silently, waiting for the dog to run.

Taking his blatant cue, Padfoot burst into a run, following Moony's scent. By now, he would be human once more, and unless he made it back to the Shrieking Shack safely, there was no telling what could happen. He paid little to no heed to the branches that whizzed by as he turned over in his mind what could have happened. How did Prongs make it out? Was Wormtail all right? Did Moony manage to escape?

His fears were quickly assuaged when the forest began to thin out at the edge of Hogsmeade. Padfoot skidded to a stop beside Prongs, with Wormtail sitting on his head. They made themselves scarce and became human once more.

"Where is he?" Sirius demanded. "Where's Remus?"

James put an arm on his shoulder. "He's all right. He's up in the shack right now."

"He should be back in Hogwarts by now."

"He should be," Peter nodded. "He's a little tired, and had a pretty good fight. Pomfrey will come and get him."

"What until then?"

"We go back to the castle and wake up like none of this ever happened."

Peter agreed quietly, making himself a rat again so that he could fit into James' pocket. Speaking as little as possible, they strode back to the castle under James' ever-useful cloak and changed into pajamas, falling into their respective beds and dropping to sleep almost instantly. It was nearly four in the morning at that point.

Remus, meanwhile, lay on the floor of the shack, too weak to move. True, the monthly transformation usually did take a pretty good chunk of energy out of him, but he had grown used to the incessant dull ache that came with the territory. It was said that one could get used to anything; at least, that was what he had read in a Muggle book. It said that a man could be trapped inside a log, with only a patch of sky to look at, and eventually become accustomed to it, and within these bounds anything was possible. So overcoming a few muscle pains was not much.

At least he could claim to know a little bit about 'monthly cycles.'

However, the night's adventure had proven to be rather taxing on him. His body was peppered with small cuts and scratches from the brambles that had caught his skin, and there were several gashes caused by the fight. A piece of his lip was missing, and there were several bites in his legs and arms which thankfully looked only like he had bitten into himself. He planned to pass it off as such.

He wasn't certain how long he had lain there, contemplating pain and infinite space and how he would weasel his way out of this one. Outside of the window he had placed himself to be facing, he could see the sky turning a lighter shade of grey and guessed sunrise to be about an hour or so off. That was when the door creaked open.

"Remus?" came a voice tentatively. Then, more nervously, "Remus!" He could hear a flutter of robes and knew that Madam Pomfrey had finally shown up. "Dear heavens, boy, what happened? You've never done this to yourself!" She picked him up gently, trying to lay his rumpled and torn robes straight.

On a side note, it is a common misconception that a werewolf's clothing breaks or tears during the full moon. Actually, any items on the person at the time will spontaneously disappear, only to reappear when the moon has set. This can be anything from clothing to glasses to personal paraphernalia. Any damage done to the person, also damages objects on that person, as the torn clothing in Remus' example. However, this is quite besides the point and more important things were occurring in the story, like Madam Pomfrey conjuring up a stretcher and taking Remus back to the Hospital Wing.

He lay in bed, his wounds already healed by Pomfrey. She had lain _Crime and Punishment_ on his bedside table, and he picked it up without delay, reading it zealously. By now, he had read many of the Muggle classics, and found Madam Pomfrey to be of Muggle descent; her father had been a professor of literature and her mother was a librarian, so she happened to know a lot of the great novels. His favorite by far had been _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead_, a modern play, but excellent by his tastes.

The sound of footfalls broke his concentration, and he could hear muted voices from behind his curtain. A few snatches like "hurt terribly" and "upset last night" came through, but overall he couldn't discern very much, which was fine for him. Usually, the less one knew about the dealings of teachers, the less trouble he got himself into.

Just as he came to this brief resolution, Dumbledore parted the curtain gently, smiling down at Remus. "Ah, you're awake."

"So it would seem."

"Wasn't a very good night for you, was it?"

'Subtlety, they name is not Dumbledore.' He tried to hide a grin. "I've had better."

"Something happen?"

Remus noted a particular stress on this sentence, as if Dumbledore knew all about the escapades and was only remaining quiet to get them to confess. This was a game they had played every month since his friends decided to become animagi and suffer out the change with him, at great risk to their own lives. He never thought about the risk until now, though, and usually managed to forget by the next moonrise.

"I just got in a fight with one of my friends beforehand," he replied simply. "I suppose it just made things worse." It wasn't a complete lie, anyway.

It was always in this moment that Remus suspected Dumbledore would speak out, either by reprimanding him or by simply asking 'Do you want to tell me what really happened?' This moment stood still in anticipation, holding its breath until Dumbledore spoke.

"Well, I hope your friends don't cause you too much trouble. After all, we wouldn't want you hurting yourself terribly."

Remus nodded. "Thank you, sir." And that was all for the day, their game ended for another round, still no winner or loser declared.

Turning it over in his mind, he did realize what trouble his friends truly did bring. The most obvious vice was their willingness to help him, putting their own lives at risk. What if he ever lost complete and utter control, and was unable to restrain his actions? What if he bit one of them? They would be lost to lycanthropy forever. Then there was their constant troublemaking, always managing to concoct some sort of scheme to get them landed in detention. Get James' and Sirius' heads together and who knows what could happen?

However, as much trouble as they had within themselves, he had more problems when he wasn't with them. The first two, nearly three years he spent at Hogwarts were very sad, lonely years. Keeping his head down and his nose in the books, he managed to get stunning grades and earn a little respect and trust from the faculty; many had their misgivings about werewolves in general, let alone allowing one to attend Hogwarts. It was good he had such a charming demeanor (of course, he would never admit it) or else the precedent he set for werewolves at Hogwarts would have ruined the chances of anybody else receiving an education.

Before he met James, Sirius, and Peter, he had always been picked on by the older students of all houses, including his own. It wasn't until James and Sirius defended him that he had a hope in the potential for friendship. He could still remember how it happened, quite vividly.

Time, however, would not allow for a flashback at this point. Madam Pomfrey interrupted his thoughts, telling him it was all right for him to return to his bedroom and sleep if it would make him happier. He said it would, quietly thanking her as he gathered himself out of bed, noting that he was still a bit sore and weak. However, his legs would support him, and so he made the slow walk back to the Gryffindor common room.

Once he made it to the communal bedroom, he tumbled into his bed, faintly aware of three other sleeping persons. It seemed as though he wasn't the only one who had been drained by the prior night's events. However, his friends soon alerted and they spoke briefly before resting once more.

One person, however, could not find rest after the night previous. As he watched the strange black dog streak away into the night, he wondered why the dog had bothered helping him at all; moreover, he wondered why there seemed to be nearly instant animosity between himself and the animal. He would have began feeling rather pathetic that he could scare away woodland creatures with a mere look, if he had only the time to do so. However, then the poor animal became hurt, and he set to healing it, and then it left. It was so strange that he had to sit down and use a moment to take it all in.

Gaining full composure, Severus started back towards Hogwarts, cursing the detention and sending a faint praise to whatever deity had saved his life that night. Severus wasn't a religious person so much as he believed in the potential of a higher power in life. He didn't fool himself, though; he never crossed it with piety. Agnosticism, really.

Waiting for Hagrid became rather tedious, and eventually Severus gave up, throwing some sparks into the air. The gamekeeper burst out of the woods, glaring at him sternly.

"Yer not hurt," Hagrid muttered.

"You sound disappointed."

"Why are ya' here?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "I was attacked by a wolf pack, thank you for your consideration."

"Were ya'?" Hagrid appeared not to believe him.

He nodded, not acknowledging Hagrid verbally.

"What kind of wolf?"

"The kind with fur and nasty, sharp, pointy teeth," Severus said, rather pointedly. "Is that good enough, or would you prefer me to give the genus and species? Perhaps a sample of its blood? Family tree?"

"All right, so ya' were attacked. Were ya' hurt?"

"Quite obviously no."

"All right," Hagrid sighed. "I suppose ya've served yer detention. Get to bed."

Severus nodded, bowing slightly. "I thank you for your overwhelming kindness." Not wanting to further engage in dialogue with Hagrid, he turned sharply and walked away, ignoring the fact that Filch wasn't there. He wasn't supposed to return to the castle without a guide, but at this point he didn't really care. His bed was beckoning him and he wasn't about to refuse a good curl-up with a book and some tea.

Once he was in bed, however, sleep or relaxation was not an easy thing in coming. He began to wonder over and over who those dogs that had helped him were, and where they had come from, and to whom they belonged. He had never seen them before, so they couldn't be local animals. However, he didn't really go to Hogsmeade all that often, save to restock on school-related items and his one indulgence, Honey Bunnies. They were a small candy in the shape of a rabbit, made out of honey, as the name indicated, and had the splendid property of melting in one's mouth almost instantly, and tasting wonderfully for hours on end, almost like an Everlasting Gobstopper. Only, Honey Bunnies cost significantly less than the Gobstoppers did.

On the next Hogsmeade visit, he planned on keeping on the lookout for those two dogs.

Although he was calmer by now, Severus found that his hands were shaking. It was then that the enormity of the situation hit him. He could have died then, quite easily, and rather painfully. Those wolves would have torn him limb from limb and picked him clean, most likely not even having to kill him to subdue him. Severus wasn't the first to own up to his lack of physical prowess, and would most certainly not be the last.

His hands were still trembling, as was the rest of him. Giving up on sleep rather quickly, he snuck into the kitchen, getting himself a fresh cup of Earl Grey; rather, the house-elves got him a fresh cup of Earl Grey, and he had to practically beat them off with a stick before he would find himself laden with food he didn't want. Sighing, he began walking about Hogwarts quietly, sipping his very hot tea as quietly as possible.

He was breaking down the night's events for the twelfth time (he had been keeping track) when a slow murmur of voices, almost exhausted voices, came floating up the stairs. He pressed himself against a wall, hiding in the shadows as the voices passed him by.

"- think he's okay?"

"Which he?"

"Either."

"I'm sure they're both fine."

"I don't know. He looked pretty-"

The voices floated away around a corner, back into the night. He wasn't exactly sure, as he didn't see the faces, but the voices were recognizable anywhere: Potter and Black. What they were up to at this late hour, he didn't want to know, and his better instinct told him to let them walk by without incident. Once he was sure that the coast was clear, Severus tiptoed back to his room where he curled up with his dog-eared play and whiled the hours away in contemplation on the significance of one and man's best friend.


End file.
